


The Kingdom

by Teefths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Lexa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anya Lives, Anya died? ahaha yeah right, F/F, G!P, No Spoilers, Omega Clarke, Omega Verse, purposefully trying to ignore every stupid decision this show has made, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teefths/pseuds/Teefths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months have passed since the mountain. With the twelve clans of the coalition searching for the powerful Wanheda, the omega who slew The Mountain, the Heda's claim on her seems to be the only thing she can do to achieve what she has failed to once before. </p><p>OR </p><p>A/B/O trash, to distract myself from horrible choices that were recently made</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> So, if the tags were not obvious enough, I stress once again that this is an ABO fic, with a G!P Lexa. This might not be your thing. This is a casual side project, mostly to distract me from the recent events. Hopefully, it can distract others from the dreadful and the disgusting that we have been subject to.
> 
> About my take on ABO: I realize that most have their own take on omega verse. I have taken some more recurring themes and left out some. Ruts and heats do not cause mindlessness, just reckless or intense emotions and behaviors. Still rolling along with it as it goes, trying to incorporate it into the Grounder universe and culture.

 

 

The Heda paces in front of her throne. The sunlight dances on her skin as she moves mindlessly, illuminating the bruises and cuts scattered across her cheekbones, her neck, down the length of her arms. The light layer of sweat beading at her temples and covering her body reflects the sharp light. She appears to be glowing and she is burning. She knows the spark began with a “not yet”, and engulfed her like the broken atom in the old stories when she saw the commander she needed to be, reflected in Klark's tear filled eyes. Now, there is molten lava in her veins, the likes of which that could make and end wars. Her people respect the destruction spilling from her pores, bowing their heads instinctively in her presence, overwhelmed by the overly dominant smell permeating every surface. She knows this is what is bounding her people together after the retreat at the mountain, and the legend of the Wanheda sitting on the tongue of her people.

Her rut had started two months ago, the same day she heard about the bounty on Klark's head. It took a stronger hold a month later, as they failed and failed again to find the omega who had taken down the mountain. Omegas were rare, this much was common knowledge. The elders spoke of a time in which they were plenty. But, many had passed since the great rebirth, the poison of the air affecting them the most. Rare was an omega born without being spoiled by defects. Indra had dropped the bounty on her lap, like she foresaw the impact of her action. In a moment, she had snapped out of weakness. She made her way to Polis, merely a shadow amongst the trees, guards barely keeping up behind the horse's hooves biting the soil rapidly. Almost as quickly as the beating in her chest. The rut hadn't let its grip weaken since then. Its length was unheard of amongst her people and it spread hope throughout Polis. It served as a prediction of their victory, of her prowess. Rut was the time in which a Commander was most powerful. It was believed that mating made two become one. So, those with a thirst for power that might be gained from their leaders mating with the destroyer of the mountain, they sent their best warriors, hoping to catch the Wanheda.

Her people brought gifts. Teas to prolong the rut, knives and thick furs. Refusing them would have brought dishonor to their families. She accepted them with a nod, but nothing could appease the fire in her bones, threatening to make dust of her body. Women had offered themselves, as it was customary, only to be refused by a clenched jaw and a dismissive wave of her hand. It would neither help nor change anything, she thought. She spent her days in training pit, searching only for one who could give her a respectable fight. One whose pheromones could match hers. The best she could obtain was a momentary satisfaction of ache in her gut by the blood on her knuckles and an unconscious opponent on her feet. Onya's face was decorated with as many bruises as the Heda carried, like colored khol on her cheeks and neck. They served as marks of honor, to the woman who had once trained a young Leksa.

“Gather the best gonakru. We must find her before any other.” She had told Indra. “Go to the skaikru if you must. _Em ste ain_.”

She hadn't rested since that moment. There was no rest to be had until she had Klark in the safety of Polis. The word had spread. And so, she waits and dreams of her. A mess of soft pale skin, gold and sky. She doesn't get used to ache between her thighs and the constant hardness threatening to split her in half, rendering her mind into a rut-addled mess. Forming complete sentences have grown to be an incredibly difficult feat. The hole in her chest is overwhelming, craving with such strength she shudders under its power. She cannot, and would not, undo what has occurred at the mountain. But she knows she cannot bear to choose another time, as she fears weakness would win. She will make sure that no such opportunity can transpire once more.

 

* * *

 

When she hears word that the natrona Prince has captured her, she breathes again as she falls back into her throne. She feels air in her lungs like it is the first time in months she has been granted the freedom to do so. Heat curls in her and it calls to the omega she has been claiming in her mind since that moment of weakness many moons ago. The guards resting at the entrance of the room cower and bow their heads respectfully at the sudden surge of pheromones.

The natrona walks in, but she cannot hear his words. Her lungs are filled with Klark, like spring water, dew left on leaves after harsh rain, a dark autumn sky. It is knowledge that fills her then. That the way her soul had called her mine as she had her lips softly against the skaiprisa's, had been true. It had not been the heat of the oncoming battle. It soothes the ache that has taken possession of the totality of her being. A growl builds in her chest at the sight of his hand on her back. He, without a drop of uncertainty, will not leave this tower in the manner in which he came in. She takes in the omega's tattered clothing, her long matted hair. Her clothing is that typical of a small village south west of Polis. Pride threatens to burst out of her, knowing that her ability to survive is savage and unrelenting. Even with the girl on knees, she knows she must mourn the soft skaiprisa, as she has silently mourned for the people she has been and lost.

“ _Ai don lid yu Wanheda in._ ” He takes off the sack off Klark's head, and it is the Wanheda that stares back at the Heda. She takes a moment to gaze at the muscles in her jaw, clenching on the cloth gagging her. She turns to the guards and nods.

He struggles against the strong grasp of the men dragging him out, “We had a deal.”

Pheromones fill the room once again, thick and fierce. Onya takes a small step back, knowing to avoid any confrontational stance or response. The prince slumps in the guards' grip. “A deal only as strong as the one promised by your queen mother, natrona.” The roughness of her voice echoes in the silent room. Dirt and blood fills her nose then. The natrona fails to hold her searing gaze, “You were not to let her be injured. You have failed.”

Her teeth clench almost painfully, as they drag him away. She turns to Onya and Indra, “Leave us.”

Once the alphas are gone, she feels her heart calm in her chest. She breathes in deeply, profoundly comforted by the sweet smell of the omega hidden under the blood and sweat. Reaching under her arm to help her rise, she feels her skin grow feverish, feels the familiar tugging against the fabric between her legs. She tugs the cloth out of her mouth, “Klark.”

The omega's pheromones, raging and agonizing, almost makes her choke. So unlike her own, which is now pulsating softly as she knows a relief she has not known for moons. Her lips curl slightly at Klark's manifestation of her dominance. But the fury is unrelenting, and the Heda wills herself to focus on the blonde’s face, twisted in displeasure and anger. She brings her palm to her face, foolishly trying to soothe the clench in her jaw, the lines breaking as she frowns, the dark circles under her eyes.

The shock and adrenaline coursing through her veins do not register the pain of Klark's bite on her hand. The wound bleeds sluggishly. The omega's voice is coarse with loathing and fatigue, “Don't floating touch me.”

Something in the Heda's chest sinks and she attempts to straighten her back to compensate for her thoughtlessness. In the mess the rut has made of her mind and her dreams, she had forgotten place she now held for the beautiful skai girl. She nods once she steps back to give the girl some space. “I am sorry for this. But it had to be done.”

She hears the growl building in the omega's chest as she spits, “And they call me, the commander of death, while you continue to live and destroy everything that you touch.”

Leksa takes darkness settled in the other girl's eyes, the tormenting emptiness of a person that cannot or does not want to be. She knows that she is right. “I need you, Klark.”

The omega's shoulder tense with such intensity, Leksa is surprised that the ties around her wrists still hold. “You're in rut.” Her eyes shift momentarily to the proud bulge between the Heda's legs. She suddenly feels shame for a part of her that brings her both pride and recognition amongst her people. “Your fucking smell is in every room of this place.”

She tries to not break, as she sees disgust fill the girl then. Pheromones surge defensively in response. But the blonde holds her breath as Leksa's blood is still whispering mine with such reverence. She looks away. “It is not the reason for your presence. I do not desire to mate one that does not wish the same. I am offering protection. What occurred at the mountain has left some with a hunger for blood or power. A thirst with such dominance that it threatens both the coalition and the safety of the skaikru.”

“It's a little too late for that, Commander.”

Leksa just stares back into her hard gaze, unmoving, “You do not understand. The battle with the maunon did not alter the protection from my coalition. Evidently, it altered your perception of us -”

The omega struggles against her bounds, “Go float yourself, Lexa. You don't get to speak to me like I'm stupid. I know more than anyone what it cost to take down the mountain. What you made me do.”

The Heda knows the moment her hands are free, it is the Wanheda who will curl her fingers around her throat, with the strength gained from a number of kills of the likes that cannot be made into marks on her small back. The alpha, though, craves for the touch, even if it means that air can no longer fill her chest. “It is the Wanheda that is breaking this coalition apart. The mere statement of your name brings water to the mouth of those who seek enough power to see me pass on.”

“I don't care.”

She clasps her hands together behind her back, nails digging into the skin. “I am not asking you to. My fate is written, and your actions can not deter my path. It is your own life for which I wish for you to care about. You have survived long enough, but with many warriors searching, your safety is only temporary. If captured by others, the life you would lead would not be endurable.”

Klark's gaze is excruciating, but the Heda doesn't flinch, “So you're keeping me a prisoner instead? Am I to give you my most profound thank you? How is this any better than getting caged up by another heartless -”

She is ready to beg for her to understand, “I will not take with violence and blood that which you do not offer. That is what differs.” Restraining her instincts, her need to claim the omega she aches for, the hatred the girl now holds for her has made exhaustion settle into her bones. “Necti is one of my best warriors in Polis. She will guard you and assist you to your room. Please rest, Klark.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke feels herself losing all sense of direction, as the warrior guides her through the tower. They arrive at room that seems more like a queen's bedchambers than a prison cell. She cannot let go of the anger, she fears what will be left of her when it does. She bitterly thinks about the way the commander is still, in a nauseating way, protecting her. By being both an easy target for her hatred, and giving her shelter. Too tired to assess it any further, she pushes the thought aside. Candles are lighting the dim room, giving it a warm glow. The bed is big enough to fit at least four people. Many furs lie on the bed, and she thinks that it is not customary for one to have that many blankets. She feels strangely at home, in this unknown place, amongst strangers. She does not understand the feeling.

The warrior nudges her into the room, “Go in, Wanheda.”

She looks around the room and sits on the bed, recognizing the scent on the furs instantly. She involuntary brings her legs together. She quickly grabs the furs, piling them in a corner of the run, as far from her as she can.

The guard looks at her strangely, “Is it not to your liking? The Heda arranged this room herself.”

Clarke tries to hold in her breath, “I can smell that. What is your name?”

The warrior brings her hands to her back, puffing her chest slightly, “Necti, Wanheda.”

Clarke sits back on the bed, “Right. I'm Clarke, Kom Skaikru.”

“That is known, Wanheda.”

“Then call me Clarke.”

The warrior nods, before getting out the room. She closes the door behind her, but Clarke can still see the shadow of her feet in the small crack under the door. She knows this whole castle is probably under strict orders to protect her. To protect the Wanheda, she thinks bitterly, without any semblance of fondness for the title. They celebrate and admire the reason of her demise. To carry out her plan, she figures she might have everything she needs right in this room. Jus drein Jus daun. Blood will have blood, and there is enough blood at Clarke's feet to drown the Commander and this whole city with her

For three days refuses the meals brought to her, the clean clothes placed neatly on her bed each morning. She wants naught of what they offer, knowing it is by the hand of the Commander. She looks at the pile of “gifts” sitting on the table, clothing, books, parchment and charcoal. They are blatantly ignored, as she spends her days lying on the bed, unmoving. The warrior, Necti, is the only person she sees. She stands against the door way, and Clarke cannot shake off the feeling that she is both guarding her from both intruders and herself. Her clothing is typical of the grounder garbs, except for a small piece of leather, attached to a strap that passes under her arm, hiding half of her neck. She doesn't ask her why she has that added piece of armor. She assumes, by the scales of metal reinforcing it, that it is a symbol of her status amongst the warriors.

On the fourth day, weak from hunger, it is the first time she sees someone other than Necti. The warrior is tall, her shoulders wide. The braids on the sides are tight, and her bright, intricate, partly braided copper hair falls over them. She knows she is an alpha, even before a strong wave of pheromones hits her. They remind her of Lexa's, but she doesn't feel it calling to her. It feels strange. Curiosity gets the best of her, as she subtly makes her way closer to the warriors. The redheaded warrior inches closer to Necti, and the smaller warrior whispers to her soothingly, while undoing the strap under her arm that is holding the neck piece in place. She tries to hear their conversation, but is not able to decipher the softly spoken trigedasleng. She stifles a surprised laugh, once she hears the tall, fearsome, robust warrior purr against the neck of her small guard. Necti looks at her then, a smile melting off her face instantaneously, before pushing away the redhead. The warrior growls slightly but leaves regardless.

Necti ties back the piece of armor in haste, “I apologize for the interruption, Wanheda.”

With a furrowed brow, Clarke approaches her guard. With a deep breath, she takes in her smell. Surprised she hadn't figured it out earlier, “You're an omega.”

A nod, “Sha.”

It dawns on her as she recalls the feeling of comfort in this strange place. “That explains why you were chosen to guard me.”

“I was chosen for my strength, Wanheda.”

“But you are an omega.”

Her back straightens once again in pride, “Sha. We are uncommon. It is said that none make a better warrior than an omega, as none will protect their people as fiercely as we are capable.”

This is strange to hear, so unfamiliar to what she had been taught on the ark, “And the warrior, was she your mate?”

She nods with a small smile on her lips, “She is mine. She is uncommon, born in fire.”

Clarke's legs are weak under her and she sits down on the floor, “Because of her hair?”

“Sha, Wanheda.”

The feeling of her voice escaping her lips is soothing, a sense of precious normalcy, “She hasn't visited you in the past days. Was she away?” She knows from her classes on the ark that it is often unbearable for an omega to be away from her mate. She wonders if anything she knows is true.

“No. She doesn't interrupt me while I'm tending to my duties, but it is to be expected for the next few days. Going into rut is hard for an alpha.”

She scoffs, thinking about all the conversations she has heard from the people making their way through the hall, “I thought it was the period in which an alpha has the most worth.”

The warrior's face softens, “It is said. But omegas know its truth. It is when they are most fragile, especially when away from their mate,” Her eyes shift for a fraction of a second to the pile of furs resting in the corner of the room, “Or the one they want to claim. For us, after mating, the heats become easier to manage. For alphas, the need to protect only claims them stronger.”

Clarke laughs softly, “Which is why she scent marks all your clothes.”

The warrior grins subtly, “As I do hers.”

How easy that type of love seems. She eats her next meal, not wanting the omega warrior to get into trouble or be assigned somewhere else. The warrior seems to be a considerable source of viable information. In the dark of night, she sneaks into the corner of the room to take one of the Commander's furs back into her bed. She tries to ignore the wetness building between her legs as she guiltily presses her nose into the soft fabric.

The next morning, a half-eaten bowl of fruits sit on her lap, as she sits next to the door and her guard, “So why doesn't the Commander have the same neck piece as you do?”

Necti looks at her, both amused and confused, “Has she been claimed without the knowledge of the Trikru?”

“What?”

She turns to face her, “It is for those who are claimed. To protect the skin.”

Clarke almost chokes on the fruit, “Oh. Right. The bite must weaken the skin.”

She appreciates the calm, slow beat of the warrior's voice, who explains with patience what she should already know. “It is said that if the site of the claim is injured, your mate cannot find you in the next life. It is important for it to be protected.”

They remain in silence for a short while before Clarke asks, “Why is the Commander's rut so important to the people in Polis?”

“It shows her dominance, prowess. It is also a sign that she is the one who will mate with a strong omega, one that will bring our people strength. It is said that no other rut has lasted this long. Before Ades mated me, she stayed in a rut for eleven days. The exhaustion nearly drove her to her end.”

Clarke plays with the hem of her battered shirt, “Why didn't she just take someone to bed?”

The warrior shakes her head, “She could not. It was me she claimed.”

She swallows thickly, “And the Commander is claiming me.”

She feels Necti's hand on her shoulder, for a slight moment, “Sha, Clarke.” She looks down the hall, almost cautiously, “It is the blood of the Heda, the strength, which is keeping her alive. An extended rut has driven bigger alphas to madness before. To recklessness that brought an early and brutal passing.”

Clarke hears the concern in her voice, so very subtle, “Do you fear for the Commander's life?”

She looks away, “She is strong. She is Heda.”

“You can speak freely, Necti.”

“Sha, Wanheda. Those who know, fear. At this moment, many want the Heda's end. Her protection of the Skaikru, your presence, the retreat at the mountain has made many foolish. What threatens the Heda's life, threatens the coalition.”

Clarke gets up suddenly, making her way to the window. Emotions and thoughts, violent and conflicting in her mind. Revenge, this time, is accompanied by confusion and it loses its sweet taste. The streets are busy and full of life. She feels such a strong disconnection with the scene; it almost appears like a painting. Something beautiful, but imaginary. A gravitational field away.

The warrior clears her throat, “We could go into the city, Wanheda. You are permitted to leave this room with warriors at your side.”

She sighs and closes the curtain, a soft transparent silk. “Maybe another day.”

That night, like many others before, her dreams force her to pull the lever over and over again. Her body lies with the dead, blank eyes reminding her of her crimes. It reminds her, how heavy and ruinous it is to breathe when you know precisely its cost. She manages to wake up, sitting in the bed in one fluid motion. She is shaking, unable to forget the blood on her hands. She tries to focus on the stars shinning in from her window when she hears the rapid beat of footsteps on the hard floor.

She is surprised to hear Necti's voice, “Heda -”

“Move aside, gona.” She hears the soft panting of the Commander.

Her guards voice is soft and comforting, a surge of omega instincts, “She is safe, Heda.”

Lexa ignores her and closes the door behind her. Her flimsy shorts and thin tank top barely hide the thin layer of sweat, beading on her skin. She searches around the room, only the feral look in her eyes once she realizes that Clarke is the only one present.

The mixture of pheromones and adrenaline course through the room. The muscles in her arms stiff, veins budging under her skin. She drops the knife on the table. “You were calling. I – I believed -”

Clarke gets up and she feels the blood on her tongue, “That I was calling for you to mate me?”

The alpha looks down. The omega in Clarke begs her to soothe the ever evident agony in what seems to be the strongest alpha in this land. “No, Clarke. I meant what I said. I have respected your wish. Even after I heard you were not eating. When you were refusing my – I thought you were being injured. That is all.”

She snarls in response, “I have Necti to protect me, remember?”

The alpha growls, moving to the window, her knuckles white from her grip on the edge, “I can protect you best.”

Clarke doesn't even process the impulse willing her body to move towards the knife on the table. With a harsh, unexpected push, she turns the Commander, her back against the wall. With the knife at the alpha's neck almost breaking the skin where the metal meets the flesh, she realizes that this why they call her the Wanheda.

Lexa looks at her and it not surprise that fills her eyes. It is a calculating gaze, the type she gives at war meetings. Clarke doesn't feel the conflicting emotions as she did before, only certainty. But then, why does her stomach cramp up painfully as the Commander says her name like a plea, “Clarke.”

She bares her teeth in a vicious snarl, “You destroyed me.”

Lexa presses her neck against the knife. A lone drop of blood falls against her chest like raindrops on a leaves. So surprisingly calming. The Commander tries to understand the meaning behind her statement, “As you are destroying me, Clarke. As you have since you first came into my tent moons ago.”

The omega's hands shake, but she clenches her jaw, “I committed genocide because of you. Do you even know what that means? I had to kill – to kill so many people, living breathing people, who didn't deserve to die. Who didn't even know why. You betrayed my people.”

She closes her eyes for a brief moment, “You would have done the same.”

She feels the growl build up in her chest, hears it resonate in the room, “No, I would have never -”

Clarke is unable to stop herself from focusing on the green of the Commander's eyes, seeing the pupil shrink back to its normal size. “You would have done the same for your people. I know you would have. If that offer had been given to you, you would have done as I have. We are not mated, Clarke, but you are mine. I hear your heart stronger than my own. I know its weakness as well as my own. But that is not the true problem, is it? The outcome of that situation. The Maunon could not have lived an honorable life. They have stolen life that they were not entitled to since my people can remember. It was their way. The fundamental problem is that I betrayed you. I abandoned you.”

She feels angry tears slide down her cheeks, unable to respond. Lexa merely brings her face closer to her, facing her neck, in the same manner, Necti's mate had done a day ago. She does so, even with the knife pressing angrily against her throat. She tries not to think about how wrong it feels, for the young Commander to not have a mating scar on her throat. Something to protect and guide her in the next life, as her guard had told her. She tries to ignore the way she said mine as its memory swims in her blood. She feels her breath on her neck and cheek as she says, “If it is my blood you need – take it, Clarke. If you cannot forgive yourself, it is yours. Take it so that my soul finds the next Heda, with a body that may bring you peace. I will not be able to survive this much longer, so I am content that my death will be at your arm.”

She feels her arm tremble as she tries to press the knife deeper into her throat.

“But know that I am sorry for I know the price of such actions. But I feel no worry, for you, Clarke Kom Skaikru. Your strength and my end will give your mind the rest it needs.”

She drops the knife, because she doesn't believe in reincarnation. She has lived in the sky her ancestors claimed to be the kingdom of heaven and found no gods. Any semblance of justice died long before the world fell, and she wonders if it ever existed at all. And so she knows, without a doubt, that there will never be another like the alpha surrendering to her at this moment. Never will there be a Commander, making the right decisions regardless of the weight it bears on a heart she tries to ignore. Uniting people in a way that defies probability. No other alpha with that much power and strength would be willing to give it freely to an omega, an alien. She knows that maybe she will never be able to forgive herself, to be rid of the nightmares plaguing her being. But she feels a sliver of hope, knowing she might be able to forgive the young girl, who has never been able to claim her own body as hers. A young alpha, breathing her in with reverence and necessity, it makes her feel that by their simple existence, she has become the impossible gods.

She feels Lexa relax instantaneously as she desperately places soft kisses against the small bleeding cut on her neck. Both trying to erase and apologize in a way in which words quickly fails. Her blood stained lips are drawn to the fluttering pulse on her neck. For the first time, she forgets the weight on her shoulders as she breathes in her strong, sweet musky scent. She feels the heat building in her, intensifying when she feels the alpha's hands on her lower back, carefully grasping. Feels the way the hard swell between the alpha's legs ruts deliciously against her center.

“Clarke.”

The arousal filling her voice break whatever trance Clarke found herself in. She pushes the alpha away, trying to look anywhere but the trail left by her blood covered lips. At the now almost completely black eyes staring back at her. Her panting, her erection straining against the sheer fabric hiding it. She feels the wetness dripping warmly down her thighs. By the clenched fists and the tense muscles, she knows that Lexa can smell it. She hears the alpha growl as her hungry eyes examine her in her disheveled state. She cannot help the small whine she gives her in response.

She backs away, trying put distance between her and the enticing smell of the pheromones the alpha is pumping out. “You need to leave Lexa.”

She sees her swallowing thickly as she softly pants, “Clarke -”

Her voice sounds so broken, she cannot help but feel herself in the taller girl in front of her. Her own response surprises her, “We can talk tomorrow, at sunset, if you are free.”

The alpha nods before bringing her hands to hide the straining erection. Once she leaves the room, Clarke's head is messy and dizzy. Her clit throbs painfully and she feels a sense of emptiness so profound and all consuming. Once she is in bed she is unable to stop her fingers from slipping between her wet folds, her soft whimpering filling the silence. She pretends that the hands she is imagining aren't the Commander's.

 

* * *

 

Her hair is still wet from her bath, skin scrubbed raw. No matter how hard she rubbed the soap against her skin, she wasn't able to get the memory of the alpha's smell on her. Regardless, she feels lighter, somehow. She kicks away her dirty, discarded clothing and slips into the clean ones that had been brought in by a handmaiden earlier.

“Necti?”

The warrior looks almost embarrassed as she peeks behind the curtain, “Sha, Wanheda?”

She tugs on the tangled straps, “Could you give me a hand?”

She moves somewhat stiffly towards her, “If you require it.”

Clarke laughs softly, “You don't have any trouble stabbing someone but helping someone dress makes you uncomfortable?”

Necti effortlessly attaches the various straps, “It is not customary to help another warrior dress. It is a symbolic gesture used with either our pups or our mate.”

“Well, good thing I'm not a warrior then. I'll keep this between us.”

The warrior backs away once finished, looking at her clothes, “The Heda has chosen well for the Wanheda.”

They exit the room, making their way back to Clarke's room. “Why do you say that?”

She waits until they have reached her room before responding, “It is a demonstration of your position in Polis.”

Clarke huffs impatiently, “Could you be anymore vague?”

“Sha, Wanheda. I would be capable if you required so.”

Sarcasm is dripping from her words, “Really? I have a hard time imagining.”

The omega looks at her strangely. “The warriors are ready to accompany us.”

Once outside, Clarke takes a deep breath. It feels almost as satisfying as the first one she took on this land. She notices the many awe-stuck eyes on her and she wonders what the clothing means to them or if they simply recognize her. She feels terribly disorientated.

She looks at Necti, “Take me to your favorite place in this city.”

The warrior nods. They make their way through the streets, with four guards following closely behind them. Clarke bathes in the pure life surrounding her, all bathed in a warm golden sun. The warrior breaks the silence, “When was your last heat, Wanheda?”

It is easy to remember, as she only lived through her first one, “Years ago, when I was still in the sky.”

Her brows come together in confusion, “How can it be so, when you smell differently? Are you spoiled?”

“Spoiled?”

She brings her hand to the sword on her side, holding it almost nervously, “Not able to produce?”

Clarke shakes her head, “No, I'm able to… produce. We were given medication, like special herbs, to stop any heat or rut. So after you proved to be an alpha or omega, you started the suppressant.”

“That is cruel.”

She raises her eyebrows, surprised at the strong statement, “It was necessary. We couldn't have uncontrolled situations or too many children. Heats would have caused chaos in such a small environment.”

The guard nods.

“How do you guys handle the heats and ruts?”

The omega shoots a harsh look to an alpha edging closer to the Wanheda, who cowers in response. “We are not many who go in heat. Usually, we are protected by beta guards if the call is too strong. For ruts, we have a training ground. It helps to satisfy their urges. If not many desire to help sate the need of a strong alpha.”

She thinks back to their conversation from a few days ago, “Why did you wait before mating Ades?”

The warrior looks at her for a moment before staring ahead, “You ask a lot of questions, Wanheda.”

She shrugs, “Well, I know very little about your people's ways. I feel like mine have not been really truthful about what being an omega or an alpha means.”

“I was born from both omega and beta blood. I was taught what omega means and why Nomon decided to mate with a beta. It is said that omegas died at the great rebirth because of weakness. Weakness of the body. But it is not so. When the sky rained fire, alphas rushed to hide. Omegas could not leave their pups or the elders behind. Our blood comes from those who survived and through generations, healed from spoiling. Both alphas and omegas have their own ways, and it is known from their first trial.”

Clarke eyes are focused attentively on the omega's neutral expression, “The first trial?”

“When it is known if one is alpha, omega or beta. They are given a toy goufa, child. They spend a moon with the goufa. A warrior then challenges them for it. The beta will give the goufa, knowing that the fight is not worth it. An omega will fight the warrior until exhaustion claims them. Even when the fight is over, the omega will not rest until it gets back the child. It will in rage, attempting to get it back at all cost. Even years later, the child will remember the warrior. Omegas can never trust the one who took the child ever again. I still feel fire when I think of the one who stole mine, although he has passed to the next life many summers ago. Alphas will fight the warrior until they feel they have been beaten. Then they will submit. They grow attached to the warrior, often training with them after their first knot.”

The streets are thinning down, and Clarke wonders where the omega is taking her. Her voice is as steady and calm when she continues, “I wished not to mate with those who left us behind at the great rebirth nor to one who would surrender to those who had stolen their pup. Alphas are territorial, but if their life is threatened, everything else can be given away. I refused the claim Ades made until it was the time of my heat. Alphas were crowding my nest, fighting against the betas warriors guarding me. They fought viciously and almost succeeded until she came. She fought many alphas that night and suffered many injuries. Once she was victorious, she came into my room and sat on my bed. She guarded me in silence. Unmoving even as my heat filled the room. I knew then her worth. She will give me strong pups and protect us with her life.”

Clarke brings her hand to the warrior's shoulder, “You are lucky, Necti.” She hesitates slightly, “What about the Commander? Do you think she has the same… worth?”

She looks at her strangely, “Wanheda, the Heda is ready for war with the Azgeda to defend her claim. She has fought the strongest of the Azgeda alphas almost every day since your arrival, to prove she is worthy of her claim. Many alphas would have abandoned claim on a mate once their rut prolonged. It is said that the Heda's rut started two moons ago. Her rut might end her and yet she still claims you.”

Clarke tries to pretend that she doesn't feel her body calling to the alpha, seeming so far away at the moment. “So, basically your coalition rests on me mating with your Heda?”

The warrior solemnly nods. They continue walking until they reach a small building. Clarke's guard holds the door open for her. She is surprised as she takes in the room. Crude wooden cradles are lining the walls, pillows and furs covering the ground. Small children are stumbling clumsily around, some held being held or fed. She feels a powerful sense of ease and comfort filling her.

She turns to Necti, “What is this place?”

There is a small smile on her face, “This is where the pups are cared for if need be. Some do not have nomon or nontu, some are here until they come back. It is where omegas find each other and guide those with their first pups. Come sit, Clarke.”

She awkwardly makes her way to the pillows on the ground. Necti says a few words to the guards on the other side of the door before sitting down next to her. “Do you have any of your own?”

She moves to take in her arms a dark haired baby crawling towards her, “We are waiting for my next heat.”

Clarke hasn't seen a child in so long. She feels soothed and is surprised at the feeling. An omega makes her way towards her with a small smile, bowing once she is in front of her, “Wanheda -” She holds out a sleeping baby towards her.

She feels a sudden surge of fear, knowing how much death her hands have brought. Not wanting to taint that innocent child. “No, its okay I -”

Necti cuts her off, “It is a show of respect and trust. It would be considered an offensive to refuse.”

Once the omega has the baby in her arms she turns to the woman, “Mochof.” She points to the baby and then to her, “Yun?”

She shakes her head.

Her guard cuts in, “The pup is one without a nomon or nonto.”

She understands then, why the warrior brought her here. It is the life. It is a reminder that there are bigger things than death. It brings hope and comfort. She then understands that with the murder of an entire community, she has also given life. The child in her arms will not grow to become a crazed reaper or used as a blood bag and kept in a cage. The parents of the children here have enough to fear for, in this harsh land. And she, single-handedly, has made one threat, present since the beginning of their people, disappear. She has slain the source of their nightmares. In a way, she understands, the Commander has tried to do the same.

They stay there until the sun falls and Clarke barely feels the passage of time. She talks with the other mothers, plays with the children, and holds some until they fall asleep in her arms before placing them into the cribs. It gives her a sense of purpose, one that does not bring her guilt or memories of these past months. With every crying child she soothes, a sense of calmness builds in her.

They hear loud sounds outside. She feels herself pumping out defensive pheromones in response as she holds the sleeping child closer against her. Clarke smells her strangely satisfying aggressive pheromones before she hears her say, “If you do not show me where Clarke Kom Skaikru -”

The omega rolls her eyes at her rut-addle entrance, “I'm right here, Heda.”

The alpha falls on her knees in front of her, “Clarke… you were not in your room. I thought you had been taken.” She looks around the room, at the prying eyes, before her face gains her usual composure. But Clarke is feeling hazy from her sweet smell, unable to shake off the warmth in her chest at the feeling of possessiveness and protection coming from the worried alpha.

Her eyes find the fresh cuts on her arms. She remembers what Necti told her, “What happened?”

Lexa looks away, “I fought a foolish alpha.”

She takes in the blooming bruise on her jawbone with a small smile, “Did you win?”

The alpha puffs out her chest, “I will not take your question as an offense. I am alive and so yes, I was victorious.” She looks at the sleeping baby in her arms, “I see you have found the pups.”

“It was Necti's suggestion.” The Commander nods at the warrior. The omega bows her head before heading out.

She sits stiffly next to her, “I did not know you had a fondness for them.”

Clarke looks down, “It is hard not to.”

The alpha nods, a small smile on her lips, “I presume it is.”

“Do you want one? Or are you not allowed since- ”

Clarke sees her swallow almost nervously, “I would give my mate pups if she so desired.”

The omega furrows her brows at the vague answer, a feeling of uneasiness settling in her. They sit in silence. She realizes then how exhausted the alpha probably feels. The smell of her rut seems more bearable, docile even. With her eyes, she follows a toddler, with mud on his face, an imitation of war paint she has seen many children bear as they made their way to this place. He fights imaginary opponents with a branch. Clarke cannot help but imagine a young Lexa, knowing she began her training at about his age. She knows from his renewed vigor that his is trying to impress the alpha next to her. She sees it happen and her heart clenches, as his feet gets trapped between furs and falls with a small thump on his branch. He cries, and Clarke moves to get to him when the Commander beats her to it. Her wry arms lift him up until he is standing again.

His small arm rubs a red spot on his arm, “Wounds are sign of good training, gona.”

His eyes are still partly filled with tears but he bows down to her, “Muchof, Heda.”

She nods. “Keep training, goufa, and you will bring pride to your Heda and your people.” She grins as she turns to the omega, “Maybe you will bring pride to the slayer of the mountain, as well.”

Clarke can feel herself calling to the alpha but she simply cannot help it, as she sees her ruffling his long hair affectionately. The Commander looks painfully more human than untouchable legend. She stands and she feels drawn to Lexa with such strength fire burns in her stomach. Her hand instinctively finds the pulsing beat in the alpha's neck. “That was nice of you.”

She leans into the touch, the hint of a purr in her chest at the praise, “The pups are in most need of guidance.”

Clarke doesn't refuse Lexa's offer to ride with her on the way back to the tower. The alpha wraps her arm tightly around her waist, holding the reins with the other hand. She smells like pine trees, softly burning firewood and safety, she realizes as she pushes back towards the source of the delicious smell. The omega in her swoons at the way warriors, twice as big as the woman behind her, bow their heads in submission. A part of her knows that she should hate the alpha against her. But another part of her, currently stronger and more assertive, whimpers as she feels the hardness against her lower back.

She hears the alpha's growl warningly in response, “Clarke.” She nudges her nose against Clarke's neck, “Please do not make -”

Her brain feels muddled and unresponsive. She finds herself unable to respond adequately when she feels the slight brush of her lips as she moves her face away. A part of her aches to drag her face back to the crook of her neck. Where the alpha against her will only be able to smell her and no other. It's hard to determine whether these changes, this craving, has always been there or has been a result of three months of isolation. Whether it's craving for human contact or the girl holding her body against her so tightly their motions melt together. They arrive at the tower, and she quickly lets go of the Commander's hand helping her off the horse, stepping backward until she feels a little more grounded. Her breast ache and she doesn't understand why but she cannot wait for the moment she will slip into bed and relax her aching muscles.

Lexa follows her to her room almost awkwardly. She doesn't mind the silence, as she feels comforted by the alpha's body heat, a sharp contrast with the cooling weather. The pheromones the girl is pumping out is muffling her thoughts, something she has been failing to do since she left. Necti is by her door, guarding as usual.

She turns to the Commander, “Well, I did say we could talk. Come in?”

Clarke then takes in the pained expression on her face, “It would perhaps be best if I did not.”

“Are you okay?”

The Commander nods stiffly.

She tugs her by her sleeve. She closes the door behind them, knowing plainly that speaking truly in front of her people is not something she can afford to do. “Does it hurt sometimes? Being in a rut. I don't… I don't know much about it. I only know the pain of my first and only heat. Necti told me that being in a rut for this long is -”

“It does hurt, Clarke. But that is not important.” Her face softens, “There are things that could hurt much more than this.”

The omega sits on her bed, almost dejectedly. “Why are you doing this, Lexa? Why are you doing this to yourself?”

She doesn't move, almost like she doesn't trust her body to obey. Sweat is beading at her temples. Clarke knows the powerful smell of her will stay in this room long after she is gone. “I have explained why. My alliance and my people depend on my claim. Your well-being depends on my claim.”

She sighs, “You know, it's hard to hate you when you're hurting. When I can understand why you do everything you do. Why you did everything that you did.”

The alpha sits next to her. It almost looks comical, in her official Commander gear sitting on her messy bed. Her voice is small and delicate, words that would go unsaid in the light of day, “Why do you have to hate me, Clarke?”

She knows the quiet question was rhetorical, but she answers regardless. Needs the words to pass through her lips, to feel the truth as it fills the air. “If I didn't then I would only have myself left to despise.”

Her back straightens as her eyes find the omega's, “You need to lay the past to rest. By your actions, you have given back blood owed to both your people and mine. To an immeasurable amount of Trikru who were denied the right to be guided to the next life by the Trikru and smoke. It does not serve any purpose, to carry our actions like the dead on our backs. It poisons the mind, Clarke.”

The omega breathes her in slowly. Wishing that by this, she can absorb the words until they feel possible. “Would proximity help your rut?”

“I do not understand.”

She brings her hands together, hoping her face will carry out an expression of indifference. “If you slept in my bed, would it make it hurt less?”

The alpha simply looks at her, trying to hide her surprise at the offer.

“I could definitely take a full night's sleep, without you barging in, in the middle of night, thinking someone has taken me.”

Her lips curl at the edges, and Clarke takes in her response as a yes. Lexa walks to the door and exchanges a few words with her guard. With the door now closed, she slowly takes off the straps holding her armor together. As if trying to give Clarke the time to change her mind. But the omega's mind goes blank, as she sees the nimble fingers working away the clothing.

She turns towards the wall, “You may change now. I will give you privacy.”

The omega quickly slips out of her clothes, her gaze fixed on Lexa's back. Her soft sleeping clothes suddenly feel constricting. “You can turn now, Lexa.”

Her cheeks are flushed and Clarke doesn't miss the slight glance at her chest. She raises an eyebrow in response. Once they lie down, regardless of how tense the alpha next to her appears, she feels a nonspecific ache she had willed herself to ignore, lessen. Sleep claims them suddenly and with force. Her own purrs wake her up in the middle of the night as she is wrapped tightly into Lexa's arms. Lexa is the only thing that her senses can understand. She knows there is strength, somewhere in her. She just cannot find enough of it to drag herself way from the sleeping alpha at her side.

 

 

 


End file.
